Logic Be Damned
by ForeverSirius77
Summary: It started in the library, when they decided to act on emotions. It ended while watching a sunset in the backyard, when they decided it was ‘for the best’. It became fully understood on a stormy night, when they decided that love wasn’t always logical.


_Disclaimer__: Anything you recognise does not belong to me, however much I wish that it did. Instead, it all belongs to J. K. Rowling. However, anything you do not recognise does belong to me._

_Summary__: _"Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense."_ It started on a spring day in the library, when they both decided to act on emotions. It ended while watching a sunset in the backyard, when they both decided it was 'for the best'. And it became fully understood on a stormy night, when they both decided that love wasn't always logical. _

_Author's __Note__: And here's another story of mine, though it's only a one-shot. It is a Sirius/Hermione, but it is __**NOT **__connected to the overall story that I'm writing for them, like both _Come Back To Me _and _Watching Him Remember _are. Oh, and this story was also written in response to both Jacqueline's "Kiss in the Rain" and Little Bibi's "I Challenge You …" challenges on the HPFF forums. _

_Several 'thanks' need to be issued where this story is concerned, too: A thank you to both __**Cassie (ms. leading) **__and __**Nikki (fg-weasley)**__, both of MNFF, for beta-ing this story. Also, to everyone on both the MNFF and HPFF forums, as well as those who commented on LiveJournal, who helped me choose the right title. The winning title was suggested by __**mrsmcclnt**__ on MNFF. And finally, I'll let you get to the story; I present for your reading enjoyment, _Logic Be Damned.

* * *

**Logic Be Damned**

**By ForeverSirius77**

* * *

"_Poets often describe love as an emotion that we can't control, one that overwhelms logic and common sense."_

_--from, _The Notebook, _by Nicholas Sparks_

* * *

The sun had set hours ago, the bright, red orb drifting slowly, languidly, below the horizon. Pinks and oranges had covered the sky, the colours mixing and swirling as they hid the blue of daytime and allowed the rainbow that marked dusk to come, a rainbow that had slowly darkened, eventually plunging into black as night approached.

Had she looked out of her bedroom window to see the day's end, perhaps she would have seen the clouds that hovered nearby, their simple presence announcing the coming of a rainfall – a rainfall that had been desperately needed for weeks, if the weather reports were anything to go by. Summer heat was rarely pleasant, after all, yet the record-breaking temperatures and lack of precipitation this year made it even less enjoyable.

But then again, maybe she would not have seen the clouds. Most had not seen them as they watched the beautiful sunset that beckoned the ending of the day. The clouds had, after all, not really arrived until just barely an hour ago.

She hadn't watched the sun set today. Nor had she watched the day end yesterday, or the day before, or the one before that. It had, for as long as she could remember, been something that she loved to do; she loved to watch sunsets, her eyes staring up at the sky as it took on a rainbow of pinks, reds, oranges, and purples.

As a little girl, she always wanted to be outside during dusk; she would always beg her mother and father to let her stay in the backyard for "just a little bit longer" so she could watch the sun set. Many times, at least one of them would join her; she might sit next to her mother on the swings or be perched on her father's lap as he reclined on the porch. And on the days she spent staring at the sky all on her own, she had generally just lain on the ground, the green grass so nice and soft beneath her that a blanket wasn't needed for comfort.

Not even bad weather kept her inside all of the time. Even with the sunset dimmed behind rain clouds, she still wanted to stay in the yard. If the rainfall was light – just a shower – her mother would let her stay on the porch most of the time. Only the _really _bad weather forced her to remain inside, though she wasn't as disheartened at those restrictions as she might have been; thunderstorms always darkened the sky too much for her to enjoy the sun's setting.

When she had grown up and gone off to school, she had still always tried to watch the sun set. She tried to be outside most of the time, but it was harder to wander outside for no reason here than it'd been for her at home. (For some reason, she hadn't wanted to tell anyone this particular interest of hers. It wasn't like she was embarrassed by it, of course … Maybe she just liked having it kept as her own personal secret.)

At the very least, if she was stuck in her dormitory, she would have been sure to keep the window open. Her roommates never asked why she didn't close the window; they'd probably just passed it off as an odd eccentricity of hers. It had been fine for her; she hadn't wanted to try and think up a lie to tell them, after all, so it was just easier if their curiosity never beckoned.

As it was, she always tried to see the sun set during those months that she spent in the castle. Perhaps it had all been in her head, but she remembered thinking that, when she was at school, the sunsets had seemed more … well, she supposed 'magical' was the word. There had just been something about them, she'd thought. But perhaps it had just been her imagination.

Time had passed; she had grown older and finished school. Yet even when she no longer lived at home or at the castle, even when she was alone in her own home, she had spent those first moments of her evening watching the sun set. Granted, it was true that the scenery wasn't as sweeping and beautiful as it had been at the castle or as comfortable and familiar as it had been in her childhood home. But it had a feeling all its own.

For years, she had enjoyed watching the sky become a mixture of colours as the sun fell out of sight.

But she hadn't seen a sunset in … well, she wasn't quite sure when she'd seen the _last _one.

If asked, she would probably say it had been months.

Ever since she had let her courage fail. Ever since she had decided to take the easier path.

Ever since she had chosen to walk away from him.

Neither of them ever could say _exactly _how it had started, all of those months ago. Their relationship hadn't been conventional or expected. (Actually, it had frequently been called the exact opposite.) Their relationship hadn't been an instant love-at-first-sight, but neither had it been one to develop excruciatingly slowly. (Although, she supposed that, if pushed, they both would have said that it would have leant more towards the latter than the former.)

They had known each other for years before any attraction one felt towards the other was ever even remotely thought about. Yet when, precisely, their relationship had turned from one of acquaintances to that of a relationship between caring and close friends, neither he nor she was sure. Probably in the first few years, though, they had believed.

It was even harder for them to say when they went from just being close friends to developing an attraction to each other. Each of them was sure that they had denied the truth of things for some time, passing their feelings off as a youthful crush or misplaced loneliness. They would grow out of it in time, both had thought.

However, time had proven just such a belief to be false. Neither of them could recall the exact time when they had each realised that their feelings hadn't been fleeting bits of foolish, youthful emotions. But both fully remembered the day – the moment – when they had first _acted _on that attraction. The moment when everything about their relationship had changed.

Ironically enough, it had happened in the library.

_She had just spent the last several hours in her room, her eyes pouring over her notes and the books that were sprawled across the floor. The dark curtains had been pulled aside, allowing the bright sunlight to shine through the glass windows to provide light in the normally dark, shadowed bedroom. Music was playing softly on a nearby radio, and a clock hung on the far wall, each movement of the hands telling her that the nice, spring day was passing – and she was stuck inside. _

_For what felt like the hundredth time, she ran her hands harshly through her hair, her fingers getting caught in her curls' knots. She gave a groan of frustration and shoved the heavy book away as she stood up from the floor. _

_She knew that she had seen the right information before. Somewhere, at sometime, she had read the one paragraph that would prove her hypothesis and enable her to show her boss that it wasn't just a _theory _that she had, but that it was _fact.

_At just over twenty years old, she had already managed to make quite a name for herself in the Healing profession, her talents and intelligence helping her to solve many a mystery that had plagued her colleagues. Her natural drive and gift for researching had her perusing many ancient texts, the pages yielding cures long-thought forgotten. _

_Yet, no matter how much she had searched for the past few days, she couldn't seem to find what she was looking for. And she just _knew _that she'd read it _somewhere _before!_

_So, aggravated, she left the room behind and started heading down the narrow corridor towards the kitchen. Perhaps a walk and a drink would help to clear her mind, maybe help her to remember where she'd read the fact before. _

_The sounds of shouting and laughter drifted through the open windows as she came down the stairs into the main room. Looking out, she could see many of the house's other occupants outside, enjoying the spring day. Sun shone in the cloud-free blue sky, a cool breeze blowing through the leaves to keep the temperature at a comfortable number. _

_And here she was, stuck inside until she finished her research. _

_Echoes of the sounds of carefree enjoyment reverberated in her head as she grabbed a glass of water and started to climb the stairs again, heading back to her room to continue her (pointless) perusal through the old texts and scribbled notes. _

_She'd only had one foot on the bottom step when she suddenly stopped, frozen in place. The light had gone off in her mind, and as she stared down the long, dark corridor that stretched next to the staircase, the hallway leading towards the other rooms on the first floor of the home, she realised where she had seen the book before. _

_In the library. Here, at Grimmauld Place. _

_She nearly ran down the corridor, hurrying through the door to the large library that was home to tall, elegant bookcases, their deep shelves stocked with hundreds of texts. Some old and some new; some thin and some thick; some Light and some Dark. (Although, there were not nearly as many Dark texts as there'd been when she'd first encountered the room. Weeks and months of cleaning had solved that problem.) _

Now, _she thought as she waved her wand, bringing the lamps around the room to life, _where, exactly, was that book? _As her gaze travelled over the shelves, taking in the hundreds and hundreds of leather bindings, she started to feel slightly discouraged. _

_This was going to be a bit harder than she'd originally thought, it seemed._

Well, I'd better get started. _So, deciding to start at the top shelves, she enchanted a nearby wooden chair to float a few feet off the ground and climbed up on it, the extra height needed for her, at her short height, to read the titles of those books who rested at the top. _

_Fortunately, however, the task of locating the particular book that'd prompted her search hadn't taken the hours that it felt like it would when she'd started; barely a half-hour had passed before she found it – a thick, old tome, bound with red leather and the title sprawled in rich, silver ink along the spine. _

"_Need any help?" asked a voice from below. _

_Startled, she'd lost her balance, which had already been a bit precarious as she'd stood on the armrests of her chair in the effort of removing the book. But, instead of the hard impact with the library's floor she had been expecting, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her, keeping her body from hitting the ground. And looking up, she saw just who her rescuer had been. _

_The long black hair, grey eyes, and aristocratic looks could have only belonged to Sirius. _

_Sirius had been back for almost a year, his return mainly due to a combination of Harry's wish for family and Hermione's curiosity and desire to understand the mystery of what had happened that night in June. For nearly three years, the question had bothered her, though she had never voiced it to her friends; there had to be _something _known about that Veil; someone, somewhere, had to have some sort of answer. _

_And so she had researched. She'd looked through ancient texts, talked to wise wizards, travelled to numerous places that held similar legends to that of the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. She searched and she made notes, but she had never allowed herself to hope she could bring him back. For the same reason she hadn't told anyone about her curiosity, she did not allow herself to hope for Sirius's return. _

_Answers were all the young witch had sought then. Only grief, pain, even danger could have come from entering false hope into the equation. _

_But in the end, when her secret curiosity had remained secret no longer, the hope had somehow been born … and it had been far from false. _

_That had all happened a little less than a year ago, and within a month of that hope arriving, Sirius had returned. _

_Still at the age he'd been when he'd fallen and spared the strain that the last few years of the war had caused to so many, Sirius's good looks were easily visible. No longer did he carry the burdens he'd held during those first years that Hermione had known him. No longer was he the escaped convict or worn, old, and broken man. _

_No, with his return, the handsome looks that came with his blood had grown even more evident. And though the scars of his past would always be there, just as everyone who'd lived through the last war had their own, they were fading. _

"_You scared me," said Hermione, a nervous laugh escaping as she steadied herself on the floor, one hand grasping the back of the still-floating chair for support. _

_Sirius just grinned, and it took Hermione a bit to realise that he still hadn't removed his grip from her, even though there was obviously no longer a danger of her falling. What with her feet planted firmly on the ground now, of course. _

_But as she met his gaze, she had to admit that she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to _keep _standing without any support. _

_She waited for the dream to end, for her to wake up and realise that, once again, it had all been in her head. She waited for something odd to happen, like for Ginny to come into the room doing back-flips or Ron and Harry to tell her that the Minister had decided to make Dobby the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She waited for the fog to come, erasing the library from her sights, only to have her open her eyes to see she'd fallen asleep atop the piles of books and notes in her room. _

_She waited for anything that would tell her that it was all just a dream – a fantasy played out in her unconscious mind because of a youthful crush that had simply refused to vanish. _

_But it never came. _

_And as their lips met, she would never be able to tell anyone who had acted first, who had initiated the kiss. Whether he had bent down and she had merely reciprocated, or whether it had been she who'd leaned towards him and he'd only deepened it, she didn't know. She didn't know if her hands had moved first, or if he had been the first to lift his own from her waist. Never would she know if she had stepped back towards the bookcase or if he had led that dance. _

_All she knew was that her senses fled, her mind stopped thinking. Her quest for the book was nowhere to be found in her thoughts, her days of research over her latest project was forgotten. Nothing else seemed to matter in the presence of this kiss. This kiss that was stronger, more powerful than anything she'd ever experienced. _

_But when they had finally broken apart, both breathing heavily, everything seemed to crash down on her. Her senses returned and logic, as it invariably does, interfered. _

_She should not be kissing Sirius Black. No matter how much she had allowed her foolish crush to grow, she knew that she should not be _acting _on it! She should not be falling in love with Harry's godfather, with a man that, had the Veil not preserved his age, would be almost twenty years older than her! _

_Regardless of how much she wanted to._

"_We really shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "It's not right." _

"_I don't really care," he murmured, the pad of his thumb brushing against her cheek as he brought his hand up, his face coming closer to hers. _

_Time seemed to slow in that moment, the brief second feeling like it lasted hours as Sirius hovered mere inches from Hermione. His face had halted its approach when it had come as close to her as possible while still having a distance between them; his movements had stopped just a breath away from the young witch, as if tempting her and yet leaving the choice to accept that temptation completely in her hands alone. _

_And oh, how Hermione wanted to give in to that singular, sweet temptation. Barely any movement on her part would allow their lips to lock again, would allow her to relive that kiss that had been greater than anything she'd ever felt; her dreams and fantasies had been nothing compared to that single, actual reality. Oh, how she wanted to damn all logic and common sense, all concerns over what may or may not be right, what others may or may not think if she accepted the offer in front of her. _

_She leaned forward a hair's breath and gave Sirius a short, slight kiss. _

"_Neither do I," she muttered, smiling. _

That had been the first acknowledgement of their mutual attraction towards one another, but it was by no means the last. There were stolen kisses in empty corridors or deserted rooms, knowing glances shared across the dinner table or over the tops of books. There were lingering touches or 'accidental' brushes, smiles and winks. She deliberately chose projects that would cause her to spend time at Grimmauld Place, under the excuse that she needed access to the library and didn't want to be rude by popping over at all hours of the day and night. And when he had said that it was no problem if she stayed in the house, no one thought anything about the suggestion odd.

Neither of them had ever really made a conscious choice to keep their relationship hidden at first. But neither had they decided to be completely open about it. Perhaps there were still some lingering concerns over what others may think. Though both had said, that day in the library, that they didn't care, when that moment of passion had calmed and logic seeped in, some slight apprehensions over the opinions of friends and family caused them to keep things quiet.

Both had developed reputations, be they earned or not, desired or loathed, true or false. And neither he nor she wanted those that they considered family, those other people that they cared deeply for and loved, to jump to the wrong conclusions based on such pasts or beliefs.

Yet as all secrets have a tendency to do, the secret of their relationship soon came out.

In the beginning, there had been shock, surprise. Perhaps everyone's initial thoughts had been that they were wrong in their belief, that it wasn't true and that they hadn't heard what they thought they had. Perhaps that was why the initial reaction hadn't been the one that Hermione and Sirius had expected.

Neither Sirius nor Hermione knew who had been the first to put the pieces together, who had been the one who first shared the knowledge with everyone else. Neither of them knew if the secret had been let out because one person had seen them together; if their relationship was known because they hadn't been careful enough to keep their romantic rendezvous covert.

But the shock and surprise didn't last long, and soon those undesired feelings of anger, hatred, disgust, even betrayal, showed their ugly heads. Some were more open with their opinions, of course, Molly Weasley being the most vocal of them all. With others, Sirius and Hermione could only know what they felt by the glints in eyes or the silent treatments, the shunning or the ignoring. And then there were those who stood directly in the middle, neither condemning the relationship – either vocally or silently – nor accepting it.

Yet lastly, there were the ones that Hermione and Sirius had hoped for when hoping things would turn out for the best. The ones who stood in their corner, as the expression went. The ones who supported their relationship.

There weren't many, of course, but they were ones that mattered. Harry, once the shock had worn off, had seen that both his godfather and friend were happy together, that they cared for each other, and that, he had told them, was all that should matter. Ginny, too, was happy for her friends, glad that Hermione had found someone – and someone like Sirius, at that, who even Ginny had jokingly admitted to having nurtured a girlish crush for at one time.

Time had passed as days turned into weeks, and still, things failed to become better. The support of a few loved ones wasn't enough to change the opinions of so many others, and even strangers had their own ideas on the matter. But with individuals such as Sirius Black and Hermione Granger, the public felt that they had a _right _to share their opinions. Sirius and Hermione's names were well-known, after all, be it for good things or bad. Both were heroes from the war; one was a wrongly-convicted escaped prisoner and the other was a brilliant young Healer; one the godfather and the other the best friend to the Boy Who Lived.

Well-known. Famous. Celebrities. Their lives were open to public opinion.

And the public had no qualms about telling Sirius Black and Hermione Granger just what they thought.

The abuse had grown, the comments growing harsher and more vicious with each passing day. Hopes for support, or at the very least, acceptance, were dashed as opinions had followed the opposite path. Those friends who may have been wavering before now had their minds made up by vocal family and friends.

In the beginning, they had been able to handle it. They hadn't needed the support of the world; it hadn't mattered. They had some loved ones with them, and they had each other. They had been united in the trial. And the opinions of others were not the important things, after all. Like that day in the library, they had said that they didn't care.

But as time went on, she had started to doubt that conviction. She had come to realise that she _did _care more than she had thought she did. She had thought her courage was strong enough to face the scorn, but now, she wasn't so sure. Perhaps it had been foolish, perhaps it had just been naïve wishing, but she had hoped that those she loved would have been accepting, at least. She had hoped that, even if strangers condemned them, her friends and family would have stood beside her.

She had thought that she had the courage to make it through.

Yet now, she realised that she could not.

_They sat together, his arms wrapped around her as she sat in front of him on the cool, green grass in the backyard of Grimmauld Place, watching the sun set and the sky become its rainbow mixture of colours. _

_It was something that the two of them had done together for many nights, ever since he'd seen her watching a day's sunset and she'd unintentionally let slip her secret interest. She had not even realised that she'd answered his question of "What are you doing?" aloud. It wasn't until the following week, when she found out that his planned date consisted of the two of them going to one of his family's homes on an island in Central America, climbing to the rooftop, and watching the sun set over the swirling, blue ocean water, that she realised her 'secret interest' was no longer so secret. _

_And ever since that night, he had shared many viewings of sunsets with her, be they from the simple backyard of Grimmauld Place or off on another island. _

_Except those nights had always ended well, and she knew that tonight would not follow that pattern. For as they watched this particular sunset, she told him of her decision, her choice to walk away. _

_He didn't say anything at first, and it was only due to the fact that his arms tightened for the briefest of moments that she knew he had heard her. She did not looked up at him – did not even known if she would be able to without breaking – but had kept her gaze on the sinking sun instead. _

_Finally, after what seemed like hours to Hermione, Sirius had nodded, whispering something along the lines of the decision "probably being for the best", before allowing the silence to fall over them once again. They didn't move from their positions on the grass when the sun had fallen completely out of sight and the sky had lost its colour, the pinks, oranges, and reds vanishing to be replaced with the black of night that was only interrupted by small, twinkling stars. Not even the moon was visible tonight. _

_And still, even when night had fallen, they remained on the grass for just a little while longer. They sat and they listened, the only sounds, save those provided by nature, that of their breathing. _

_They stayed that way for neither knew how long, until together, each seeming to read the mind of the other, their actions were so simultaneous, Sirius and Hermione stood from the ground, Sirius extending his hand like a gentleman to help Hermione get to her feet. But just like it had been in library so long ago, Sirius did not remove his hand. _

_Hermione had no desire to let him, either, even if she had decided to walk away. _

_No words were spoken between them in these last few seconds. One hand still holding hers, Sirius lifted the other to Hermione's face, his fingers running along her cheek as he gave her a brief, short kiss. _

_It was nothing like the passion in the library that first time, nothing like the many that had come afterwards. This kiss was not one of love, desire, and passion like those had been. No, this one was that of a farewell, a parting, a breaking. It had to be brief, for anymore would have been too much, would have been impossible to step away from in the end. _

_And they had to step away from it in the end. _

"_Goodbye, Hermione," he whispered. _

_Her heart tried to tell her that she was making the wrong choice with walking away from him. It tried to tell her that she was meant to be here, with him, and that the world really didn't matter. It tried to tell her that logic should be ignored. Love, after all, was _meant _to be illogical. _

"_Goodbye, Sirius."_

They had parted ways after that farewell. Upon re-entering the house, Hermione had climbed the stairs to the room she'd been occupying for the past months, packing up her things with a few waves of her wand and leaving before Sirius was able to tell her to, at the very least, stay for the night. No, she knew that she couldn't; it would be better for her to stay the night at Ginny's. She would move back into her place come the morning.

And that was what happened.

News soon spread that their relationship had ended, each having decided that it was for the best. Both Sirius and Hermione had gone their separate ways, neither really listening to Harry and Ginny when they urged them to go back to each other. Hermione had stuck to the same story, the same logical reasoning that the ending of their relationship was the "right decision" to make. She had no idea what Sirius said to the same pleas of his godson, but her suspicions told her that he, too, was saying the same as she was.

That the decision had been for the best.

Time had passed, and Hermione had moved on. She hadn't seen Sirius since that night, choosing to stay away from gatherings that she knew he would attend. She knew that he had spent some time out of the country, though he was now back and staying at Grimmauld Place. Exactly where the dark-haired wizard had gone, Hermione didn't know. Harry hadn't told her anything more when he'd shared the information.

In time, even Harry and Ginny had let the situation go, deciding that they couldn't push a relationship between two people who had obviously decided not to have one.

Days quickly became weeks, which had turned into months, and with each passing moment, Hermione had shoved her feelings for Sirius aside, soon convincing herself that her mind's decision, the logical choice they had made, really had been for the best. She had gone out on a few dates with some wizards who worked at the hospital, a few from the Ministry. Even a Quidditch player.

None had been serious; none had gone further than one or two dinners. But they had served the unintended purpose of making her heart believe what her mind had thought that night.

And then Ron had told her of his feelings for her.

It had been her first relationship since Sirius that went further than those one or two dinners. They built on their friendship of the past, and the couple's relationship grew quickly. It was one of those pairings that everyone had expected from the beginning, and the fact that they were finally together made many a person pleased.

They were the perfect couple.

Within weeks of that first date, they were talking about the possibility of marriage, and after only a few months, Ron Weasley had proposed to Hermione Granger.

She'd said yes.

Those decisions had brought her to this point. Sitting inside of her home with half-packed trunks all around her, Hermione sat on a large armchair in the living room, her gaze staring unseeingly at the empty fireplace and her finger heavy with the weight of the diamond engagement ring.

She was supposed to be packing her things, as she would be selling her house and staying with Ginny for a month, until the wedding, where she would become Mrs. Ronald Weasley. Then her things would go with her to the house that Ron had bought over two years ago, and she would live out the rest of her life in a happily married bliss.

At least, that was how things were supposed to go.

As it was, Hermione had stopped putting her clothes in the trunks, had stopped wrapping the picture frames as she placed them carefully in the boxes, had stopped taking her numerous books from the shelves in her room. She had stopped doing all of it, had sat on the chair, and thought.

She thought about the times as a little girl, when she would help her mother in the kitchen or beg her father to tell her a bedtime story. She thought about reading under the shade of the large oak tree in her backyard as she grew older, and she thought about the time when she found out that she was a witch. She thought about that first journey to Hogwarts, and she thought about everything the school had given to her. She thought about learning all of those different kinds of magic, and she thought about the many adventures that she'd shared with her friends. She thought about how it had felt when friends died, when the war took too many lives, and she thought about how it felt when the darkness had passed, when the war had been won.

She thought about Sirius, too, for the first time in months. She thought about the first time she'd met him and discovered the truth. She thought about each successive time she'd spent with him, thought about how their friendship had turned into attraction. She thought about that first time in the library and all the times after that. She thought about those stolen kisses and secret embraces. She thought about the nights spent with him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around her and watching the sun as it set in the sky.

And she realised that she couldn't remember the last time she had seen a sunset, couldn't remember the last time she had watched as the sky became a swirling mix of reds and oranges, pinks and purples.

Looking out of the large window, Hermione saw the rain that had started to fall. It was just a simple shower, though by the looks of the clouds, the shower would probably turn into a storm fairly soon. She watched the water stream down the glass until a glinting twinkle in the dark reflection caused her to divert her gaze, turning her head to look down at the hand resting on her knee.

Firelight from the candle on the table was reflecting off of the diamond of her engagement ring.

Hermione stared at that piece of jewellery for several minutes. For all she knew, she could have been looking at that diamond for hours. But her gaze remained focussed on that ring, her mind concentrating on the many thoughts that were twisting through her head.

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Hermione knew what she had to do.

* * *

She arrived instantly across the street from the ancient Black family home. She paid no attention to the rain that fell in torrents from the dark night sky, soaking through the thin shirt and jeans that she wore. She did not even realise that, in her hurry, she had arrived within the protections of the home's property, tripping one of the many wards on Grimmauld Place …

That is, until the front door had swung open, the light from inside showing her his silhouette as he stood in the doorway.

She knew that it was him, even if she hadn't seen him in months. She knew that he saw her, even through the pouring rain and regardless of the dark, moonless night that hung around her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her body feeling like she'd run the entire distance between her house and his. Her long, brown curls clung to her head, though she paid them no mind, and her eyes blinked as she tried to see through the rain. She didn't even realise when the rain had ceased to be the only water that she tried to blink away.

A shiver went down her spine as the cold rain dripped down her skin, the water making twisting paths like a snake as it ran along her bare skin. Somewhere in the distant parts of her brain, her body registered the fact that she should probably get out of the storm.

But she hadn't come here to listen to logic.

She opened her mouth to speak, to call out to him, but then she suddenly shut it as she saw him take that first step off of the porch, that first step down the sidewalk, that first step towards her.

He, too, seemingly paid no attention to that fact that rain was falling and soaking through his clothes. He paid no attention as his shirt clung to him, or the strands of black hair stuck to his face. He paid no attention to the rumble of thunder that echoed in their ears, and he paid no attention as lightning flashed and lit up the entire night sky, making it seem like the sun had come out for the briefest of seconds before the world was plunged back into darkness.

No, like Hermione, Sirius paid no attention to those meaningless things. Like the young witch standing in front of him, whose gaze had only remained on him, the dark-haired wizard's entire focus was on her as he approached.

He didn't stop until he stood right in front of her.

Neither of them spoke as they looked at each other, their eyes still not completely meeting. They stood just inches apart, the closest that they had been in months. Ever since that night when she had made the decision to walk away, they had not even laid eyes on one another. Yet here they were, standing on the sidewalk in the middle of a pouring rainfall, with barely a foot of physical distance separating them.

Slowly, almost as if he feared she would vanish if his movements were too sudden, too quick, Sirius lifted a hand to her face, hesitating only slightly before touching her. His fingers brushed across her cheek, the movement wiping the present mixture of rain and tears away, and he lifted her head to get her gaze to meet his.

"Hermione?"

"Sirius, I was wrong," she whispered, shaking her head as little as she could with his hand still holding it. "I was –"

The words were cut off as Sirius captured her lips with his, and Hermione had no wish to push him away so that she could continue talking. Her mouth parted the very instant that they connected in the kiss, granting him entrance that she had no desire to ever deny him, especially not now. Not after her foolish mistake that night when she'd chosen to walk away. Sirius deepened the kiss, Hermione reciprocating all the way.

No attention was paid to the rain as it fell on them, the water tracing pathways down their skin. Shivers ran down spines as the icy rivers dripped down Sirius's arms, swirled down Hermione's neck. Fingers wound into dripping strands of hair, Hermione's smooth hands running up Sirius's chest and around his neck, while Sirius's coarser ones left their grasp on Hermione's waist and travelled up her back, bringing the young witch closer to him with the movement.

Soaking bodies pressed against one another as both longed for the closeness that had been denied to them for so long. Heartbeats rushed as passion flowed through them, the strong feeling of desire that was being poured into the kiss growing with each passing second. Rain continued falling, but the water's cold temperature could no longer be felt by either of them.

For this kiss was like that first one in the library, all those months ago. Or that would have been the closest comparison either Sirius or Hermione could have come up with.

But this time, with this kiss, not even the meeting in the library could really measure up. That one had been magical, powerful. That one had been greater than anything that Hermione had thought it could be, greater than anything she'd felt before. The others that the couple had shared had been just the same.

But this time, emotions that had grown in the weeks and months of separation were poured into the kiss. The power, the magic, the pure passion that was shown in this moment was greater and deeper than even that first time. It was greater than those that had followed, and it was definitely greater than anything she'd ever felt with anyone else.

Finally, when the need for oxygen was becoming too great, the kiss was broken. Sirius and Hermione's hold on one another, however, lingered. Her hands remained wrapped around his neck, strands of his black hair twisted in her thin fingers, and thick brown curls stayed clutched in one of his hands, the other cupping her face. Breathing heavily, both of their eyes remained locked with each other, his grey staring into her brown.

In that moment, Hermione finally and truly understood _exactly _what her heart had been trying to tell her for so long. Love wasn't always supposed to follow logic.

This was where she was supposed to be.

Sirius's whispered voice tore her from her thoughts.

"Are you sure about this?" he said. His unspoken words – "People will talk. This is unconventional." – didn't need to be said aloud; they were just understood.

Once again, Sirius had presented her with that singular temptation. Once again, he was offering her all which that forbidden fruit provided, and nothing about it was unknown this time. She knew exactly what would come of this relationship. And once again, Sirius was leaving the decision, the choice, completely with her.

But she had no doubts this time.

Now, Hermione had only one response.

With a smile, she said those same words he had said after that very first kiss in the library.

"I don't really care."

* * *

_Author's__ Note__: And there you have it, everyone! I really hope you all enjoyed reading it, and I would love to hear you thoughts on this story. (There, a short A/N at the end since there's a longer one in the beginning!)_

_--ForeverSirius77_


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